


The Eyes

by red_rook



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_rook/pseuds/red_rook
Summary: Over the years, all the death and pain has worn Angela Ziegler down until she can barely stand it. But our favorite Amari comes to the rescue.





	The Eyes

The liquor burned as it passed her lips, searing her throat and sending her stomach into a roiling frenzy: she hadn’t eaten in the past day, entirely devoted to her research. She barely felt the pain, tilting back the bottle for more.

Every gulp of cognac dulled the cries of anguish and agony ringing in her ears, whited out so many eyes that she had closed because she just couldn’t get there fast enough, because her team wouldn’t risk compromising her, because the patient was so far gone it was- what was the word Gabriel had used? _Expedient_ \- to save their limited resources for someone else. Someone luckier.

All the eyes she’d seen stare blankly back up at her could have formed a rainbow of faded irises. And they did in her nightmares, staring and staring until she screamed herself awake. But sometimes the eyes would have life in them, full of anger, accusation. _You did this_ , the eyes would taunt her. _It’s your fault I’m dead_ , hundreds upon hundreds of eyes would chorus. _You deserve to die more than any of us._

They were right, of course. Because the fact of the matter was, when she had watched so many die, she could not possibly care about every single one. In the beginning she’d cried herself to sleep. That was when the nightmares had first begun. But then as time went on, every pair of eyes meant less and less until at last she no longer questioned _expedience_ , of letting one die because it was inconvenient to save them.

She drained the bottle.

Sometimes, the voices of the currently living would haunt her too. Fareeha. How many times she had watched her be shot through the heart, limbs be torn away, become a supernova of energy that left nothing but ash. And how every time, dead Fareeha would remind her that she’d been too late, that she was dead because of Angela’s sheer incompetence, until her face had begun to blur and her words lose meaning.

Angela lurched to her feet from the sofa where she’d been drinking the brandy, staggered to the bathroom, and vomited. The alcohol burned twice as much going back up. Her sinuses were on fire, which set off a series of wheezes that felt like blows to the chest.

What did people always say? _You can’t fight fire with fire._ But that was exactly what she was doing, was exactly what she’d been doing ever since the nightmares had begun to bore down on her with a violent intensity. The nanobots in her system would heal her damaged liver, soothe her stomach, take care of the hangover, and so nobody knew about the bottles of hard liquor stored neatly in her refrigerator, ready for when the voices and the eyes came back.

And that was fine with Angela. She was Mercy, she was their guardian angel, she was there for her team, always. She had no right to make herself a burden on any of her teammates, not when she had failed countless others. Especially considering she doubted anything they could possibly say or do would make the eyes and the screams and the accusations go away. Not even the alcohol could. But at least it distracted her, somewhat.

Angela was reaching for a bottle of vodka when the door to her quarters slid open. Someone had overrode the voice-activated lock.

Standing there was Fareeha.

“Angela-” was all Fareeha could say before stopping, taking in the sight of the great doctor. Angela remembered dimly that she must look awful, which should have horrified her but only left her hollow. She was about to take her first sip of the vodka when suddenly, her wrist was held fast by a large calloused hand covered in scars. Angela attempted to wrench her wrist from Fareeha’s grasp but there was no use: even if Angela was sober, Fareeha would easily dominate her in terms of strength.

“What the fuck?” Fareeha rasped, gesticulating at the mess. “What are you _doing?”_

“Self-medicating,” Angela replied, and then giggled hoarsely. Her delirious amusement quickly turned into disbelief when Fareeha ripped the bottle from her grasp and drained its contents into the sink.

“ _Stop,_ ” Angela shrilled, “What- what are you-” But Fareeha, unheeding, opened her refrigerator door and made an _aha_ sound when she saw the brandy and vodka stored on the top shelf.

Only when the first few bottles had been emptied into the sink did Angela’s brain fully process what was happening and her body jolt into the requisite action. She lunged blindly for the tall Egyptian woman, a string of Swiss German curses streaming from her mouth. Fareeha easily shrugged off her punches, kicks, scratches, pouring out bottle after bottle until Angela’s refrigerator was completely free of any alcohol. Only then did she turn around and pull Angela flush against her own body, restraining her.

Something in Angela broke, and she began to sob, broken wails forcing themselves out of her burning throat. She cried until she was holding onto Fareeha just as much as Fareeha was holding her. It wasn’t until the sobs had begun to subside and her shoulders stopped juddering when Fareeha spoke.

“I heard you coughing and wanted to make sure you were alright. I wasn’t expecting… this.”

Angela’s lips pulled themselves into a facsimile of a smile. “Do you think I’m pathetic yet?”

The answer was immediate. “No.”

“Why?” Angela’s brain was too muddled to create coherent sentences in English, much less comprehend those warm brown eyes that, for some reason, did not look at her with utter disdain.

“Because you are still the strongest woman I have ever met.” And without another word, Fareeha bodily picked her up and carried her to bed. She gently laid her down and tucked her under the covers. Angela gave no resistance. Even if she wanted to, her limbs felt like they were drained of energy. When Fareeha turned to leave, Angela clutched at her wrist.

“How am I the strongest woman you’ve ever met?”

Fareeha’s face gleamed in the moonlight. “Because you cared when nobody else would. You don’t just save people, you _heal_ them. That’s more than anything that I, as just a soldier, can do.”

“I let so many people die.” It’s not the first time Angela had said it, but it was the first time she’d said it while allowing the brunt of her emotions into the words.

Fareeha did not respond out loud. Instead she slipped under the covers and held Angela tightly, gently rocking her back and forth. Angela could feel her warm breath on her forehead, a constant reminder that she was alive. That they were both alive. That Angela has, at least, not failed Fareeha, and that perhaps that is what matters.

When Angela fell asleep that night, she saw nothing but oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this like 3 years ago when i was edgy as hell  
> dont judge me :((


End file.
